The Genuine Article
by SnapeSeraphin
Summary: Misunderstandings, a jealous ex-wife, mixed messages and a fake ring form the key players in this romantic tale, where all's well that ends well. LM/HG, rated M to be on the safe side.
1. The not so genuine ring

**Disclaimer**: only written for entertainment, no profit being made. All recognizable characters belong to JK Rowling.

**AN**: This is going to be a short story in four chapters. It is all written and I plan to upload it in its entirety in the next couple of days. It was born out of exasperation that there aren't enough LM/HG stories to read and a plotbunny that turned out to have a voracious appetite and grew from 3.000 to some 13.000 words.

It is, of course, LM/HG and it is deliciously melodramatic and very romantic. The average male will probably get a spontaneous toothache from reading only a couple of paragraphs. What can I say? I was in a romantic/sappy mood.

So, if you like romantic LM/HG with an outrageously happy ending, this one's especially for you.

Enjoy.

**The genuine article**

_The not so genuine ring_

"It's fake, naive little girl," said Narcissa Malfoy maliciously as she looked down at the diamond and sapphire ring Hermione Granger wore.

Well, not diamonds and sapphire, if her lover's ex-wife was right, apparently.

Hermione clutched her right hand protectively underneath her left, staring down at her most precious piece of jewellery as well. It was a slim band of white-gold that held three sapphires in it's centre, flanked by three diamonds on either side. The band itself was very lightly engraved with a vine-like pattern. About three months ago Lucius had given it to her, in honour of their being a couple for half a year.

Whether with a deeper meaning behind it or not, he had slipped the ring onto her left hand and kissed it in its new spot, before Hermione had wrapped her arms around his neck to properly show her appreciation.

She wasn't one to want precious jewellery as a proof of affection from her partner, but now that she was dating a wizard who could afford it she had to admit that a little sparkly trinket every once in a while was very nice. Besides, she strongly suspected that the Malfoy family owned far more expensive pieces than the one he had bestowed on her; at the very least it was a convenient argument to convince herself she wasn't letting go of her morals.

It had never left her finger once, not even to bathe or shower since Lucius had placed it on there.

And now, here she was, dressed up to the nines for some Ministry function or other, her ring as always on her finger and then Narcissa had the gall to tell her it wasn't genuine.

"I'm afraid I am not very knowledgeable yet when it comes to precious stones," she said calmly, trying to defuse the situation.

"Well, that much is clear, my dear," said the other woman, delicately pulling up her nose. The three women that flanked her snickered politely behind their hands. Somehow Hermione was strongly reminded of Draco and Crabbe and Goyle. Even the Malfoy heir had outgrown his cronies by now though.

"I'm sure my current situation will see to it that my knowledge improves," Hermione said lightly.

"As long as you don't educate yourself on the subject and you can be pawned off with some pretty cut glass baubles, I doubt that very much," said Narcissa with a sneer.

"Well, I guess it is fortunate then, that I don't care about precious jewellery," Hermione countered with a sunny smile. Narcissa gave her a hard look and decided to change tacks.

"It must be difficult to acquaint yourself with our ways."

Hermione felt her anger rising. 'Our ways' She was being excluded once again. Narcissa had a way of reminding her that she and her ex-husband were purebloods, whereas she, Hermione, was not. For the sake of propriety she tried to reign in her temper though.

"I am sure I will manage in time," she declared with a small smile, "Lucius loves educating me."

'There, take that you conniving harpy, ' she thought as she saw Narcissa's eyes turn glacial at the mention of her once husband. She was the one who had insisted on a divorce, claiming she had a better chance of regaining a place in society without an ex- Death Eater for a husband.

Lucius had been kind to her, settled a substantial amount of money on her and made sure she had a nice home in a location of her choosing. The papers, of course had eaten it up. The haughty pureblood couple had made more than enough enemies in their day and the Prophet seemed to print nothing but the latest gossip with respect to the Malfoy divorce for six weeks straight.

It was nothing compared to the stir created when the first rumours of Lucius and Hermione being on a date together hit the papers though. After their first public dinner and subsequent media coverage, it had taken Lucius nearly two months to convince Hermione to let herself be seen in public with him again.

Narcissa at first ignored Lucius' escapades, convinced that it could only be a fling and that he would be alone and miserable again soon. When their relationship proved more durable than that though, she started to try and use her influence on her ex-partner and their part of society to convince him of the wrongs of dating a Muggleborn witch half his age. Hermione, of course had little to no influence with the old, pure-blooded crowd, Narcissa unfortunately all the more...

Lucius himself didn't listen to his ex-wife's poisonous barbs, dealing with the situation by ignoring it, as if there was no problem whatsoever. Hermione realised that not retaliating indicated clearly that he didn't deem the situation serious enough to do anything about it and she knew others must see it this way as well. Condemning Narcissa's efforts to the realm of the insignificant could work to their advantage. If nothing else, it certainly served to irritate the woman to no end, which in turn amused Hermione.

Apart from the media paying attention to their every move, which was a royal pain, and the less-than-amiable attitude of the former Mrs Malfoy however, Hermione had never been happier.

A year ago, she herself would have found the idea of the older Malfoy and herself being a couple the most ludicrous ever, but now that she was in a relationship with the man it made a surprising amount of sense. More so even than having a relationship with Ron Weasley, which everybody seemed to have expected of her.

However, at the time the conflict with Voldemort was finally at an end, she had already outgrown Ron. Academically she had always been his superior and when the war was over she found that she dealt with life more maturely as well. Ron had wanted nothing more from life than the chance to play Quidditch whenever he wanted and a leisurely year spent preparing for his NEWTs (not too many of course). Hermione on the other hand, felt the need to do something substantial with her life; she wanted to make sure that the last remnants of Voldemort's reign were obliterated and to help those victims of the Dark Lord that could still to be helped in some way or other. It had made Ron and her drift apart further.

Strangely enough, Lucius Malfoy had been gripped by a similar need. The Dark Lord putting his son's life on the line without a second thought, had really shaken him to the core and made him realise that there were things more important than money and power. At the end of the day, the Dark Lord lost his former right-hand man because he underestimated the man's capacity to love. Just like Lucius himself had done, by the way, but for him it had worked out rather for the best in the end.

Hermione had read in the Daily Prophet that Lucius Malfoy had plans to start a foundation for the victims of Voldemort as a form of restitution to society; without taking the time to consider, she had taken quill and parchment and sent him a letter, offering her services in whatever capacity he deemed appropriate.

She was somewhat surprised when she got a reply the same day from the man himself (she was half expecting to get a polite refusal by some employee or other) asking her to come to his apartment in London the next day at nine. 'oh and if she found that Gryffindor bravery required the existence of a triumvirate, he would be happy to accommodate.'

Unsure whether or not the humorous post-script was meant as a challenge, Hermione decided to go alone.

The house elf at the door had already been informed of her coming and didn't appear either malnourished or mistreated, which made a favourable impression on her. Then she had been taken to his study slash library, where she found the Malfoy patriarch sitting on a large, comfortable looking sofa, parchments scattered around his person on every available surface and wearing elegant yet simple black trousers and a sky-blue shirt, the sleeves of which had been rolled up to just below the elbow. Seeing that she had expected him to be sitting behind the impressive cherry-wood desk (well, behind any impressive desk, since she hadn't known his desk was cherry before she entered the study), no visible paper clutter anywhere and wearing more fabric layers than Professor Snape had buttons on his robe, she was rather favourably surprised.

He offered her tea and sandwiches, clearing a spot for her on the sofa and had started explaining his plans to her, without giving her the opportunity to elaborate on her own ideas or asking her what her motivation was. Curiously, he managed to do all this without giving her the impression that he didn't care about her opinion or that he regarded her as a second-rate citizen.

As she sipped her tea and nibbled on a bacon-and-egg sandwich, watching him pace and gesture wildly as an accompaniment to his story, she noticed that he forgot to drink his tea and didn't have time to take a bite of the sandwich he had selected, because he didn't stop talking long enough to accomplish that feat.

It took him a good half an hour to run out of steam; he then plopped himself down onto the sofa again, right on top of a stack of parchment, which he impatiently pulled out from under him and flung onto the low table with no discernible attempt at organising. He looked at her expectantly.

Hermione couldn't help herself: she was enchanted. Where Ron and Harry's less than organized tendencies did nothing but make her want to smack them upside their heads and start a monologue on The Importance Of Being Organized, seeing a wizard like Lucius Malfoy amidst this chaos of his own creation tickled her in ways hitherto unknown to her. Maybe it was just the fact that normally she only saw of him what he wanted her to see: the rich, elitist, aristocratic pureblood wizard, a Death Eater, a Dark Wizard, someone who could easily be categorized in her mind. But the man who was looking at her now.... Who would have guessed that the cool, collected head of the Malfoy family hid such passion beneath his frosty exterior?

So, they decided that Hermione would take care of the more administrative side of things, seeing that making sense of large amounts of information and doing so in a timely fashion was her particular forte. The first time she had shown the elder Malfoy her colour-coded charts, he had been absolutely horrified and declared that there was no way he was ever going to be that organised. Hermione had merely grinned and said that, since she would be working for him, he wouldn't have to be.

The first time she had kissed him had sort of been an accident. She had finished a report he had been wanting and had decided to treat herself to an afternoon off. Having already donned her coat, she took the scroll of parchment that had the expenses of the first month of the foundation's existence and walked over to where Lucius was standing, staring thoughtfully out into the garden.

Tugging on his sleeve to get his attention, she had handed him the scroll when he turned his head in her direction. "Well, I'm off for today. If you need anything, it will have to wait till tomorrow," she joked.

"You are without a doubt the laziest person in my employ," he had commented drily. She knew he wasn't serious.

"You know you love me anyway," she had countered cheekily and without a moment's thought had risen on the tips of her toes to kiss him on the cheek.

As soon as her lips met his cleanly-shaven skin, the reality of the situation hit her: this was not Ron or Harry she was bantering with, but Lucius sodding Malfoy! Her cheeks burning a bright red, she had turned abruptly, leaving the room without another word uttered.

The next day she was dreading going back to work, but the elder Malfoy proved a gentleman as he did not remind her of her rash actions. Well, not until it was time for her to leave anyway.

Hermione had already had one foot outside of the room, secretly congratulating herself on a clean getaway when he called her back.

"Miss Granger?"

"Yes Mr Malfoy?" she asked warily.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

"Eh... I don't think so."

"What, don't I get a goodbye kiss today?" he asked impishly, devilish lights dancing in the depths of his silver eyes.

Oh the nerve of that man! He knew very well that she hadn't really meant to kiss him yesterday and now he was teasing her with it. If she didn't find a way to shut him up very soon, he was going to lord this over her for the next three months at least.

So she had calmly walked up to him, laid one hand on his shoulder for leverage (the man was rather tall after all) and kissed him unflinchingly and quite soundly on the mouth.

Before he had the time to register what was going on or possibly respond, she had broken it off and was leaving the room. "Goodbye Mr Malfoy."

She was already in the hallway when she heard him say: "If you plan on kissing me again, you'd better call me Lucius."

It was an odd start of a relationship, to be sure, but it worked for them. Hermione found she had never met someone who could keep up with her so easily, furthermore who stimulated her to be her best, just like she drew out the best of him. Together with Lucius, she found that she was a better person than she had ever been before; kinder, smarter, more fun to be around. He completed her in a way that he made her realise all her potential and enabled her to be more than she had ever dreamt of being.

His flat in London was slowly becoming _their_ flat in London, Lucius spending most of his time there nowadays and even considering passing the Manor on to Draco

So why should she care that Narcissa Black left no opportunity unused for pointing out her flaws, for ridiculing what she saw as the inequality of the match; Lucius' attention more than made up for it.

"I'm sure he does like educating you," Narcissa replied with a sugary smile. "Lucius likes it when he's smarter than everybody else. But there are some things he won't be able to educate you in, my dear. Females ought to know some things without their spouses seeing to it."

"I'm enchanted to know that you think he will be my spouse one day," Hermione said, twisting Narcissa's statement to mean something the woman had certainly never wanted it to, "however, since we're not thinking along those lines just yet, I am merely a girl, who was given a ring by her lover." Finally having reached the end of her patience, she continued in the same breath: "If you'll excuse me."

She was in the process of turning away from the blonde, when the next statement froze her in her tracks.

"In future you should remember to check who has the genuine article."

There was cold amusement in Narcissa's voice and Hermione felt that the other witch had the upper hand for once. Slowly she turned back towards the woman who had held her lover's affections before her and who appeared to be unwilling to let him be happy with another woman.

There, on the outstretched hand of Narcissa Black, formerly Malfoy, was the ring Lucius had given her. Hermione unconsciously moved her own hand alongside; the rings were exactly similar in design.

Now that she saw them side by side though, she saw clearly that the ring on Narcissa's finger sparkled more luminously than hers and the heart of the sapphires looked like blue fire.

Shocked, unable to hide her emotions any longer, Hermione looked up into the cool blue gaze of her opponent. Narcissa smirked maliciously.

"Oh dear, it appears Lucius isn't so fond of you after all, is he?"

Unable to come up with a reply, Hermione turned on her heel and left the ballroom at as slow a pace as she could manage, seeing that she wanted to burst into a dead run. Her chest felt as if some constricting force was at work, denying her the ability to breathe normally.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Lucius making his way towards her, the expression on his face concerned.

"Hermione, love, are you alright?" he asked softly as he caught up with her in the lobby.

Hermione merely threw him a scathing look and moved on towards the exit. Seeing Lucius act as if he didn't know what was going on pushed her wounded heart to the background for the moment and caused a feeling of anger to start simmering inside her.

"Did Narcissa say something to upset you? You know you shouldn't take anything she says seriously," he cajoled her, a small smile playing around his mouth.

Hermione stopped her furious run towards the servant who had her coat ready for her, to round on the blond wizard following behind her.

"She is wearing MY ring Lucius!" she hissed.

The elder Malfoy didn't ask for further clarification of that rather cryptic statement, which told her all she needed to know about whether or not he had been aware of the situation.

It hurt even more than she would have thought.

"Thank you for telling me," she said sarcastically, before resuming her walk towards the exit.

His hand on her upper arm and a furious yank brought her back around to face him. His eyes looked cool on the surface, but she could see behind the facade and see the fire in them, the grip on her upper arm surely bruising her with his unconscious strength. Clearly he was getting agitated too. Maybe he cared more than she dared hope after what she just discovered.

"This is not the time nor the place to discuss these things," he murmured softly, dangerously. "If you insist, we can discuss this when we are back home." Yes, he was at least as angry as she was now. Unfortunately for him his words only served to enrage her further.

"It's comforting to know you care so much, Lucius," Hermione said, alluding to his fears for his reputation (which might take a blown if they were seen arguing like this), instead of apologizing for his faux pas. Well, it confirmed a few things at the very least.

Angrily, she tugged her ring from her finger, waving it in front of his face. Lucius for his part had gone very pale.

"You might want to give your next paramour a ring your ex-wife doesn't own a more expensive version of," she suggested sarcastically, throwing her most prized possession, until tree minutes ago, into the far corner of the lobby behind some large potted palm, with a dramatic flair she never realised she was capable of.

Lucius eyes turned cold at that gesture, the look in his eyes reminding her of the man he had once been, the man she had foolishly believed he no longer was. He was very angry, she could tell but in his eyes there was also something that looked rather a lot like contempt.

Jerking herself free from his grip and crossing the lobby to the reception area, she was already out of reach and out the door before he had reigned in his temper sufficiently for him to interfere, leaving him seething.

From her corner at the door of the ballroom, Narcissa Black smiled smugly, before rejoining her friends inside.

**AN**: reviews, as always, are much appreciated. Let me know what you think...it might make me upload the other chapters faster! (And yes, I know that's emotional blackmail ;-) ).


	2. Picking up the pieces

**Disclaimer**: see the first chapter

**AN**: I made small mistake in the author's note of the previous chapter: this story will be five chapters, not four.

Oh and I'm think if enough people like the idea and I manage to find some more inspiration, I might write an epilogue.

Thank you to the people who reviewed; you are great. I couldn't hold back any longer to post the next chapter; personally I like this chapter and the last chapter best.

Enjoy

* * *

**The genuine article**

_Picking up the pieces_

"Is there anything we can do for you, Hermione?" asked Ginny Potter, trying to make herself heard over her best friend's sobbing.

Harry stood next to the sofa, a cup of tea going cold in his hands. Ginny looked at her husband and shrugged helplessly; Harry for his part managed to look both concerned and murderous at the same time. The youngest Weasley knew that if Lucius Malfoy had been in his reach, the results wouldn't have been pretty. As it was, Harry could only look on as the woman he considered a sister was bawling her eyes out on his sofa, still in her elegant gown, a hopelessly wrinkled and rather sad looking handkerchief in the hand she held pressed against her mouth.

"I thought h-he really l-loved me-hee," she wailed disconsolately.

Ginny wrapped her arm around her friend's shoulder.

"I'm sure he does, honey. The way he looks at you...." she soothed. This only prompted Hermione to cry with renewed vigour.

"Well, I for my part..." Harry started to say, until his wife kicked him viciously in the shins, giving him a meaningful look over Hermione's bowed head.

"Men do stupid things, you know, when they're in love," she continued, giving Harry a glare.

Harry sat down on the other side of Hermione.

"Men in love behave like asses," he confirmed obediently, if a little insincerely. Ginny gave him a radiant smile.

"Really, we don't know what to do with ourselves," Harry continued gamely, repeating what he had heard Ginny say numerous times to her mother.

"I'm sure you will hear from him first thing tomorrow morning, Hermione," Ginny took over quickly, rubbing Hermione's back. "Why don't you go and get some sleep: tomorrow will arrive all the sooner for it!"

Hermione's sobbing eased up a bit; she wiped the tears from her eyes and cheeks and blew her nose.

"Thanks, Gin," she said, sounding a bit nasal. She turned to face Harry. "You too, Harry. I wouldn't know what to do without the two of you."

"You'll always be welcome in my house, Hermione," Harry said, unwittingly repeating the words he had said when Hermione had told him she was dating Lucius Malfoy and was afraid they could no longer be friends because of it.

"Thanks."

Ginny and Harry both watched as she made her way up the stairs, waiting until they heard the door of the guest-bedroom close behind her.

"That unbelievable prick!" burst out Ginny, "To give her a fake ring like that. As if he doesn't own enough money to buy an entire jewellery store! If he has the gall to show his face here anytime soon, I am going to tell him exactly what I think of him!"

"Do you think it was all a hoax to him?" Harry asked, looking pensively at the stairs where Hermione had disappeared only minutes ago.

"Honestly? I don't know what to think anymore. I used to think he was really partial to her, the way he looked at her... I thought he had to have changed a lot to even consider dating her in the first place." She sighed. "Then again, he always was exceedingly egoistical; if this turned out to be some plan of his to regain some of his social standing, I wouldn't be surprised either."

On the first floor, Hermione moved away from the door and fell onto the soft bed without bothering to undress. Curling into a ball, she drew the pillow against her chest with both arms and pressed her face into it, lest Harry and Ginny would hear her crying again.

* * *

The next morning brought, contrary to Ginny's predictions no word from the elder Malfoy. Hermione had come down early, looking red-eyed and tired; she had refused all twelve offers of breakfast she had gotten so far, instead leaning against the kitchen counter, staring out of the window unseeingly her hands clamped around a rapidly cooling mug of coffee.

She had wanted to believe Ginny, last night, but now, in the cool light of morning she realised Lucius wasn't going to come here, begging for forgiveness. And even though a small, foolish part of her kept hoping that he would, she knew it to be idle hope.

Coming to a decision, she placed the mug on the counter behind her and gathered the purse and wrap that were the only items on her person when she fled to Harry's the night before.

The Potters looked on in concern as she made a conscious effort to gather her courage.

"Hermione," Harry asked cautiously, "where are you going?"

She looked him in the eye for the first time since she had gone up to bed the night before and Harry was shocked at the depth of the sadness he saw. But there was also the glint of stubbornness he had come to know so well over the years; the one that said she wasn't going to let anything or anyone keep her from getting what she wanted.

It seemed the old Hermione was already resurfacing.

"I am going to Lucius' apartment and get all of my personal belongings."

"Are you sure that's a wise plan?" said Ginny.

"He won't be there. He has a business meeting at ten, which is why we would have gone home early last night." She let out a harsh, cynical laugh that sounded utterly unlike her and might have ended on a choked sob. "Not as early as I did leave, but still...."

"Honey, are you sure you want to be doing something so drastic right now?" Ginny counselled. "What if he intends to make up with you? Won't this give him the wrong impression?"

Hermione shook her head sadly. "If I don't do this now, I won't do it at all," she said softly. "It is only going to get harder to go back there, besides..." she faltered for a moment. "Besides, I don't think he's intending to make up with me. Not if the look he gave me last night was any indication."

Visibly struggling to calm down again, she quickly wiped her eyes and took a deep breath.

Lifting her chin proudly, she gave them a determined look, somehow looking intimidating in her wrinkled dress with red eyes and unkempt hair. With a soft 'pop' she disapparated.

Harry and Ginny exchanged a worried glance, both thinking the same thing and reading their own thoughts in the other's eyes.

How long was Hermione's courage going to last her, when she went back to the place where she and Lucius had been happy, at least for a while?

* * *

Hermione let out the breath she'd been holding, relieved that the wards still let her enter what had been their apartment. Technically it was still Lucius's; he owned the place, but in practice it had been hers as much as it had been his.

She had picked out the new sofa in the living room, she had rearranged his kitchen cabinets to suit her needs (he didn't have any needs in that particular area because he relied on the house elves, of course), and she had cajoled him into looking after the potted plants she bought, because she had a peculiar talent to murder anything green she attempted to take care of by either drowning it or drying it out.

The smell of the large, tiny flowered orchid mix as she passed the dining room was almost enough to be her undoing. Especially when combined with the utter silence of the empty apartment. It was ridiculous, she knew, but somehow she expected Lucius to come walking out of the study at any moment, to welcome her home.

Telling herself mentally to suck it up for the umpteenth time that morning, she walked into the bedroom and adjoining dressing room. Appropriating one of Lucius' large dragon hide travelling bags, she started to systematically remove all of her clothes: her jeans and t-shirts, sweaters and sneakers, the pencil skirts she wore at work, the silk blouses that were her secret vice, the sweatpants and tops she used when she went running. Her sensible pumps, the sexy pumps, the cute little ankle boots she bought last winter....she put them all in the bag, doggedly continuing her work even as the tears ran steadily down her cheeks.

After she had packed her warm and cute-rather-than-sexy pyjamas, her hand hovered for a moment over the sexy satin-and-lace nightwear she had only started using when she had gotten involved with the Malfoy patriarch. Even the thought of having to ever wear them again was almost too much to bear and she was momentarily tempted to just leave them.

There were two thoughts stopping her though; the first was that it would imply that by ending her relation with him, she was also leaving her newly-discovered sexy side to wither (and even though that would probably be true, _he_ didn't need to know that, thank you very much). The second was the question what would happen to them if she left them. Would he systematically destroy them, wanting them gone? Would he not be bothered by them at all, maybe giving them to the next witch to grace his bed?

She closed her eyes in anguish, as she blindly thrust her hand into her nightwear drawer and stuffed the slinky clothing into the bag.

Finally, the wardrobe held nothing but Lucius' garments and her evening gowns. Again she hesitated. Every single one of these gowns had been bought for her by Lucius and she knew they were very expensive.

She also knew she would never wear any of them again, because she would be reminded too much of what she had shared with the haughty wizard who had given them to her. But, as with the nightgowns, the thought of what would happen to them if she left them was not to be borne and she cast anti-wrinkling charms on the gowns, before adding them to her bag.

Going back into the bedroom, not looking at the neatly made bed in it's centre, she padded over to the dresser and added her underwear to the bag. She left one soft, comfortable set of bra and knickers out of the bag and, undressing hurriedly, put them on. Slipping into an aubergine coloured pair of sweatpants, she shrugged on a pink t-shirt and matching aubergine hooded jacket, the nicely colour-coordinated ensemble more a habit, than a conscious action prompted by her being worried what she looked like.

Binding her hair together with an elastic band and stuffing the clothing she had worn in a separate pocket of the bag, she swung it over her shoulder and made for the door of the bedroom. The scent of Lucius' cologne hit her about halfway and the way her emotions suddenly overwhelmed her felt like a physical blow.

Stumbling back towards the dressing room, blinded by tears and feeling her way along the wall, she took the shirt that Lucius had been wearing yesterday during the day and which the house elves hadn't gotten their hands on yet. Without examining her motivation too closely, she carefully folded it and put it in the bag with her clothes before going back to the hallway.

Looking from one door to the next, she decided that there was nothing she wanted form the living room or dining room; the only thing she could come up with were the plants and she would just kill them anyway.

As her gaze hit the door of the study, she sighed. She was not leaving without her beloved books, but dear God did she hate having to go into the study to do that. The room was, in contrast to the rest of the house, so entirely Lucius' domain, that it would be more painful to go in there than any other room.

"This is the last room, the last one," she quietly told herself as she closed her eyes for a moment.

Opening them a moment later, she set the bag with clothes on the floor and silently entered the study.

It was a pleasant room in cream and pale yellow, with two large floor-to-ceiling windows letting in the daylight. Lucius' cherry-wood desk was set with it's back to the windows at the far end of the room, the other three walls covered completely with bookshelves, with the exception of the fireplace.

Hermione took one of the carved wooden boxes that Lucius kept his quills in and tipped its contents onto his desk. Summoning those of her books which she knew to be at their apartment one by one, she shrank them and put them in the quillbox.

As she finished, she sighed, putting the box in the pocket of her jacket, another tear slowly making its way down her cheek. God, how long was she going to keep on crying?

Letting her eyes roam over the bookshelves, she felt more tears well up in her eyes as she took the long way back towards the hallway. As much as she had dreaded coming in here, leaving was more difficult by far.

Leaving meant she was leaving her life with Lucius behind and she couldn't deny herself one more, drawn-out moment in which she would soak this room into her memory, to be taken out and savoured on empty and lonely nights.

She moved towards the shelves on the right side of the room, where the fireplace also was and a nice little sitting area with a low, comfortable sofa in champagne-coloured fabric and cherry wood and a large, matching, wing backed chair that she had sometimes curled up in to read.

Trailing her hand along the shelves, her eyes on the books, so many of them still on her reading list, she slowly moved towards the fireplace and, ultimately, the door.

As she felt the wing backed chair at her back, she turned around to face the sitting area and remember the peaceful evenings she had spent here reading, while Lucius was still working on something, or sometimes sitting together on the sofa, staring into the fire as they talked and shared a glass of wine.

Flung over the sofa, looking as if he hadn't moved since he had lain down, face turned towards the fireplace, with dishevelled robes and generally looking like death warmed over, was Lucius.

Hermione managed to not exclaim or otherwise make a sound that would wake him and alert him to her presence, even though her heart was suddenly beating twice as fast and seemed to be lodged in her throat.

As she took in the way his right arm was hanging limply over the side of the sofa, an overturned glass of cognac staining the crème-coloured carpet and the slight smell of alcohol in the air she hadn't noticed up until now, she realised she would have to do more than gasp loudly to wake him up.

Unable to check the impulse, she silently moved nearer to the sleeping wizard, kneeling on one knee in front of the sofa, careful not to touch down in the middle of the cognac-stain.

Her hand trembled slightly as she stretched out her hand towards him, gently stroking a strand of his – now messy - soft silver hair behind his ear. There were tears softly and steadily rolling down her cheeks.

The wizard was oblivious to her touch, as she had known he would be and she took the opportunity to study him like she had been studying this room moments before. Even though his skin had a vaguely sickly hue to it and his left cheek was scrunched up rather unbecomingly on the arm of the sofa, she admired his looks one last time, allowing herself to remember the intellectual, the friend and the lover she had been privileged enough to know in this man.

As she bent closer to him, lips trembling and sight blurred by tears, she said the words she had never said to him until today, before settling her wet cheek onto his slightly cool one.

For a minute or maybe longer, she just sat there, uncomfortably bent over the sofa, his skin against hers as she breathed a mixture of his cologne and fine cognac, her body warmer where it touched his than where it did not. Her tears were silently making their way down to his face and into his hair, but she didn't care.

One more moment. She would break free in one more moment....

As the wizard beneath her suddenly shifted and sighed, she shot up as if stung, a piercing pain shooting up her knee. Hastily checking that yes, Lucius was indeed still asleep, she got to her feet and checked her knee. On the floor, right next to where her knee must have been, there was a small, white-gold ring with three sapphires at its centre, flanked on either side by three diamonds.

Well, fake sapphires and zircons, she thought resignedly as she picked it up and recognized the tiny little scratch at the back that she herself had made by accident. He must have retrieved it after she had flung it so dramatically away.

Palming the ring, she moved quickly to the hallway, where she picked up the bag of clothes and disapparated with a quiet 'pop'.

Inside the study, the man lying on the sofa slowly opened his eyes, groaning as a slight movement caused the pounding of his head to intensify.

Strange, he could have sworn there was somebody here just now, yet at the moment he was very clearly alone. Manoeuvring gingerly into a sitting position, wincing every now and then when muscles and ligaments that had spent the night in one and the same position protested vehemently, he took stock of his situation.

Why was he demonstrably hung-over?

A moment later the confusion in the silver eyes cleared and they turned a cold, icy grey.

She was gone.

* * *

**AN**: let me know what you think, will you? Many thanks in advance.


	3. Encounters

**Disclaimer**: see first chapter

**AN**: I love all the reviews I'm getting, please keep up the good work! And I love that you like the story, so I thought I'd reward you with another chapter  Don't forget to review after you're done!

Enjoy.

**

* * *

The genuine article**

_Encounters _

Neither of them remembered until Monday came around, that they also had a working relationship.

Hermione had already gotten up at half past six, showered and dressed, before she realised that going to work was definitely not in the category 'making it through the day'. She sunk down on the corner of her bed in her old room at her parents' house, staring at the worn carpeting as she thought of her next course of action.

Eventually, she got up, apparated to the Leaky Cauldron and hurriedly made her way to Diagon Alley. She must be looking worse than she thought, though; people were giving her odd looks as she passed by, some even unabashedly staring after her.

Before Lucius, she would have hunched her shoulders and kept her head down, but now the strange behaviour of the people in the street caused her to raise her chin and keep her head held up high, staring down anybody who was foolish enough to look her in the eyes.

Dashing into the post-office, she borrowed a quill and some parchment and spent some time devising a letter. Casting a charm so nobody but the intended recipient could read the letter, she went to the counter and paid for the letter to be owled immediately. 'I really should invest in an owl of my own,' she thought idly as she made her way back outside.

On impulse, she crossed the street to pursue exactly that goal, when she was suddenly stopped in her tracks by a Daily Prophet laying in the gutter. It was an old one, from Saturday, the day after the ball and because of leaving Harry and Ginny's so soon and going to her parents' place where she didn't get the Prophet, she hadn't seen it yet. Even though it was smudged and had footprints over it, she couldn't help but recognize Lucius' face.

Bending over and picking it up, oblivious to the strange looks people were giving her, she started to read as she slowly made her way back towards the Leaky Cauldron on auto-pilot.

_Dreamteam- Death Eater break-up?_ read the headline, below in smaller print: _Hermione Granger and Lucius Malfoy have falling out at Ministry Ball. _

_Hermione Granger, best friend of Harry Potter and Lucius Malfoy, former right-hand man of Voldemort were seen yesterday evening at the Ministry ball having a heated exchange after Hermione Granger exchanged some words with Mr Malfoy's ex-wife, Narcissa Black. _

_The war heroine has been working for Mr Malfoy and his foundation for the victims of the Voldemort-war for the past year and almost as long, rumours have been flying that the two are involved in more than a business venture together. _

_Miss Granger was expected to get engaged to Mr Ronald Weasley, but this never came to pass. Instead the Gryffindor lioness's taste seems to run more towards, older, more experienced and wealthy men. The public and indeed this paper was very surprised that such an unlikely couple could have developed at all and general consensus was that it wasn't to last._

_The two surprised everyone, however, by not breaking up within the month and even going to public events together, Miss Granger impeccably dressed in designer robes that wouldn't have looked bad on the former Mrs Malfoy._

_Yesterday, however, the public was proven right in the end when, after nearly three quarters of a year, the couple had a public falling out, where Miss Granger was seen arguing with Mr Malfoy and throwing a ring at his head._

_Mr Malfoy was unavailable for comment, though his former wife, Narcissa Black commented that she feared this would happen from the start of the affair._

"_Miss Granger has grown up with such different ideas and values; we simply cannot expect her to just adapt to the Pureblood way of life," said Miss Black, feeling very sorry for both parties. When asked what she and Miss Granger had been talking about before the fallout, she explained that she had complimented the war heroine on her choice of robes and inquired after who designed them. She ended her statement by saying that she wished Miss Granger every imaginable luck in this difficult time and announced that she would, of course, be available to her ex-husband, whom she is still on amicable terms with, in this trying time._

_Miss Granger is rumoured to be staying at Harry Potter's house in Godric's Hollow. Mr Potter's only comment when asked about the situation, was that he trusted Hermione to do the right thing to ensure her own happiness. He refused to give his views on whether or not his friend and the former Death Eater are a good match._

_We will be following up on this story as the events unfold._

Hermione's hands were trembling by the time she had finished reading the article. She hated it when her life was made public, especially when things weren't going to plan. She knew that the general public would eat the story up with room for dessert.

Oh and Narcissa's comments. Feeling sorry for both parties, as if. God, she wanted to kill her. And then hide from the world for a little while. Maybe a year or two, that ought to do to make them forget all about her.

She folded the newspaper and stuffed it in her purse, unmindful of the dirt coating it. No wonder people were looking at her oddly; her life had just become (once again) the cover story of the Daily Prophet.

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

* * *

Lucius sat behind the cherry-wood desk in the study of his London apartment, twirling a piece of parchment between his fingers. His eyes were unfocused, staring unseeingly through his desk and the letter in his hands. He didn't need to focus to know what was written on the parchment, the words burned into his consciousness.

_Dear Mr Malfoy,_

_Please accept my sincere apologies for having to inform you that I can no longer continue working for you under the given circumstances. I have no doubt you will agree that both of us will be better off this way._

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione Granger_

In a sudden fit of anger, he threw the parchment away from him in disgust and pushing his chair backwards he got up and started to pace around the study.

After he had taken some time (and some potion) to recover from his hang-over, he had realised that she must have been in the apartment, because all her clothes were gone, as were her books. The last was the most telling in her case.

Finding the empty-looking dressing room after his shower had taken him so much by surprise, that he had actually stood there and looked around for what must have been a full minute, before the fact that she was well and truly gone finally sunk in.

It hadn't even been that long, it seemed, that the jewel tones of the dress robes he bought her added a touch of colour to his rather muted wardrobe. Staring around him, he knew, logically that she hadn't even left that much empty space behind her, his own clothes taking up about two-thirds of the dressing room. Yet it felt as if there was a large gaping hole, painful and unpleasant. He had blindly grabbed a pair of trousers and a shirt and went to dress in the bedroom.

He tried to force his mind away from what he couldn't help but notice: she had been angry about the fake ring and she had taken her dress robes, easily the most expensive pieces of clothing in the dressing room. It seemed as if Miss Granger wasn't as indifferent about money as she would have liked him to believe...

But still...

No matter how often he told himself he was better off without her, that whatever had been between them apparently hadn't been real anyway, it _still_ hurt more than he cared to admit and that, in turn made him angry.

Angry at her for leaving, angry at Narcissa for meddling, angry at himself for caring at all.

The few business associates he had spoken to since Saturday had all seemed unduly wary of him, as if he were some kind of caged tiger and they were waiting for him to pounce. Trying to appease them annoyed him and made him feel tired and old, so he had cancelled his appointments for the day and left it at that.

Now though, with her letter of resignation staining his carpet, along with Saturday's Daily Prophet, he asked himself what he had actually planned on doing today.

A soft 'pop' in the hallway announced someone apparating into the house and even though he cursed it for the reaction, his heart leapt in his chest at the thought that it could be her.

Making his way over to the door, outwardly calm at the very least, he looked into the hallway to see Narcissa standing there, handing her coat to the House Elf.

"Miss Black," he said stiffly, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Miss Black?" she laughed softly, "Lucius, surely there is no need to be so formal?"

He sighed tiredly. "What do you want, Narcissa?"

"What do I want?" she said pulling up her eyebrows as in wonder, "why, I've come to console you in this difficult time, of course!"

"After you did everything in your power to wreck the relationship between Hermione and me? I don't think so."

"A relationship, is that what you want to call it? I thought you were just shagging the Mudblood in exchange for some costly little trinkets she could never afford on her own," she said, pulling up her nose in distaste. As usual, she had the uncanny ability to find the knife wound and twist the knife while she was at it.

Lucius felt his already dark mood take a nosedive.

"Too bad she is too ignorant to recognize good quality."

"Surely you haven't come here to discuss Hermione's lack of erudition when it comes to picking precious stones, Narcissa," he replied, carefully masking the anguish he felt at her unwittingly corroborating his suspicions about Hermione and allowing only mild distaste to colour his voice.

She threw him an annoyed glance at his refusal to play her little game, but after a moment she shrugged elegantly.

"I have come to console you, like I said."

Lucius already opened his mouth to assure her he didn't need consoling, as she continued: "And to make you an offer."

Lucius' eyebrows rose.

"I am here to tell you that, if you are amenable, I will allow you to come back to my bed."

Lucius' eyebrows rose further.

"I realise I might have been a bit...precipitous in my desire for a divorce and I wish to rectify it."

"Even after I sullied my bed with a Mudblood?" Lucius couldn't help but point out to her, using her term for Hermione.

"The bed will be burned, of course," Narcissa said in a matter-of-fact tone.

At this, Lucius face blanked of every emotion. Having been married to the man for some twenty years, Narcissa knew it to be a bad sign.

"I would have willingly crawled for you and loaded you with jewels had you made me this offer a year ago," he said tonelessly.

Understanding dawned.

"But not anymore," she said.

"Not anymore."

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

* * *

Harry and Ginny Potter were worried. They hadn't seen Hermione since the break-up with Lucius Malfoy three weeks ago, their only source of information the stories the Prophet was still printing. Seeing that _their_ primary source of information was Narcissa Black, the veracity of their articles was doubtful.

However, hearing nothing from Hermione but a hastily-scribbled note that she was at her parents' house and that they shouldn't worry about her was telling in and of itself.

"Maybe we should stop by her parents' house later, see if there is anything we can do for her," said Ginny, frowning as she and Harry made their way through the throng of people clotting up Diagon Alley. Shopping on a Saturday was always a pain, but there had been nothing for it as they couldn't find another time when they were both available.

"I'm sure if she needed something, she would have owled us," replied Harry, "I don't think dropping in on her unannounced is a good idea."

"Well, _you_ suggest something then! You think we should just leave her to her own devices?"

"I'm sure her parents are taking excellent care of her, Ginny," Harry sighed.

"Do you think she has seen the Prophet? All those stories of Narcissa's, detailing how she's helping poor Lucius back to his feet... I don't believe a word of it! The last time I was in a room with the two of them together, I got frostbite!"

Harry was about to reply that he had, thank god, little to no insight into the previous marital bliss of the Malfoys and their current relationship, when he suddenly realised they were about to pass by Flourish and Blotts, where Ginny had insisted she get a book on household charms before her mother was coming to dinner next Sunday.

Making a sharp turn, he headed for the store entrance, throwing a quick look over his shoulder to make sure Ginny was keeping up with him. He didn't realise that somebody else was at that very moment exiting the shop, until his shoulder compacted solidly with another body, its owner letting out a quiet 'umph' as the air was knocked out of him.

Embarrassed, Harry turned towards the man he had unwittingly almost tackled, the apologetic look in his eyes turning into antipathy as he recognized Lucius Malfoy.

Lucius however, seemed to have hardly noticed the collision, mumbling 'excuse me' as he passed Harry and continued on his way without even realising whom he had just passed by.

The Boy who lived couldn't help staring after the white-blond head as it quickly disappeared from view, Ginny coming to stand next to him and following his gaze.

"Did you see what he looked like?" she asked

"Huh?" said Harry, observant as ever. His wife rolled her eyes. "Malfoy. Did you see how he looked?"

Brain finally spurred into action by Ginny's insistence, he realised that the Malfoy patriarch indeed hadn't looked well. He wasn't as immaculately groomed as he usually was, his hair for instance gathered at the back of his neck in a ponytail, but wisps of hair had come loose and were framing his tired and wan looking face. The cool grey eyes that normally shone with a sharp intelligence were somewhat dull and seemed unwilling to process the information that was being offered to them.

Which all came on top of him not even recognizing his ex-girlfriend's best friend when he was al but bowled over by said best friend.

"He looks bad," he concluded eloquently.

Ginny suppressed the urge to thwack him upside the head. "He looks like death warmed over," she said decisively, unwittingly echoing Hermione's mental turn of phrase of three weeks earlier. "Come."

"What? Where are we going? I thought you needed a book about housekeeping," said Harry as his wife determinedly dragged him along with her, away from the bookstore.

"We are going to see Hermione," she announced.

Harry considered arguing that most of the points he had just raised were still valid, but as he tested the strength of her grip on his wrist, he decided it was wiser to just go along with it.

* * *

**AN**: review please!


	4. Moving on

**Disclaimer**: see first chapter

**AN**: Because you have been such lovely readers, leaving me nice long reviews to enjoy (especially the ones that tell me your suspicions about what is going on or how the story makes you feel) I am uploading the next chapter. I apologize, for it is rather short, but it has a LM/HG moment, so I hope that makes up for it.

I am thinking that a few more reviews ought to do the trick for getting me to upload the dramatic finale ;-)

Enjoy.

**

* * *

The genuine article**

_Moving on_

"Hermione is in the shower, she just came back from running," said a very surprised Mrs Granger after Ginny asked to see her friend. "Would you like to come in and have a cup of tea?"

She opened the door wider and walked ahead of them into a bright, old-fashioned kitchen that Molly Weasley would have felt right at home in. Putting the kettle on, she turned back towards her unexpected guests.

"So um..." said Ginny, "How's Hermione been? We haven't heard anything from her and we were wondering...." she let the sentence trail off.

Hermione's mother sighed, as she pulled out a chair and joined them at her kitchen table.

"I can't get her to talk to me about anything important," she said softly. "She just goes to our practice to do administrative work like an automaton, comes home, goes running, showers, reads a book, goes to bed, gets up again, goes to the practice.... It is as if nothing touches her nowadays, as if she doesn't care about anything anymore. I've never seen her like this."

She looked up at Ginny.

"Do you know him?" she asked. "This Lucius? Is he a good man?"

Ginny stared at her helplessly.

"I only know him a little," she hedged, "certainly not well enough to say he's not a good man."

Harry harrumphed, but other than that kept his peace.

"Hermione seemed very happy when they were together," Mrs Granger said, "Was he happy as well?"

"I don't know," Ginny repeated. "He seemed...softer somehow, since Hermione. Seeing them together I thought he really cared for her."

Mrs Granger nodded thoughtfully.

"I only know him from Hermione's stories, of course," she admitted, "but it sounded that way to me too."

"There is of course, the matter of the ring to consider," said Ginny hesitantly.

"What ring?"

The youngest Weasley exchanged a quick look with her husband, who was watching her with his patented you-have-made-your-bed-now-lay-in-it-look. Well, no help from those quarters then.

"The ring with sapphires and diamonds Lucius gave me when we were together for half a year and which turned out to _not_ be sapphires and diamonds, since his ex-wife still owns that one," said a weary voice from the door.

"Hermione!" Ginny exclaimed, jumping in surprise as well as guilt.

"Hello Harry, hi Gin," Hermione replied as she made her way over to the table to give her friends a tired hug.

"It's part of some pureblood dating ritual, I read all about it in this book I happened to come across," she explained as she claimed the last free chair in the kitchen.

The other three looked at her in wonder.

"Apparently it is a custom to buy your girlfriend a ring and have a cheap duplicate made of it. You present your intended with the duplicate and she is meant to recognize the inferior quality of the stones and refuse the ring, at which point the genuine article is produced. The man hereby proves he can provide for his bride, while she proves that she is clever enough not to waste their money."

There was a moment of silence.

"Where's the part about giving the real thing to your ex-wife when your girlfriend doesn't refuse the ring?" muttered Harry, followed by an "Ow!" as Ginny once again kicked his shins underneath the table.

"Hermione..." Ginny hesitated, "...we came across Lucius in Diagon Alley today. He uhm...he didn't look so great." She watched the pale face of her friend, the dark circles, the dull eyes and thought privately: 'Like you. He looked just like you.'

"What would you have me do? I can't go back to him Gin," Hermione said.

"Why not?" asked her mother.

"Because I love him, mum. And he doesn't love me." With that, she got up and left for the living room, where, her mother knew, she would curl up with a book even though she never appeared to read a page these days, the book lying open in her lap as she stared outside.

* * *

Two weeks later, Hermione announced to her parents that she had found her own living space. It was a small apartment in London, not too far actually from where she had lived with Lucius, but far enough. She would have to do her grocery shopping in a different store and if she meant to walk to her old apartment, she would have to walk for twenty-five minutes at least. It was far enough.

Much as she loved her parents, she needed some space to sort things out and get a grip on where her life was headed.

"I think that was the last box," said Ginny as she flopped down on Hermione's new sofa, watching as her friend arranged the items she had placed on the small desk in the far corner of the room. Hermione had a carved wooden box in her hands, staring down at it unseeingly before suddenly snapping out of whatever had her captivated and gently placing the box in the centre of her desk.

"It's pretty," Ginny said, "what's it for?"

"For keeping quills."

"Very practical."

"It is."

"I think I'd better head home. You need some rest I'd say and I _know_ I do!" the redhead declared as she rubbed her painful back.

"I'll need my energy when I start my new job at the Ministry tomorrow," Hermione confirmed as she sat down next to her friend.

"So, are you looking forward to starting something new?"

"It'll be nice to have something to occupy my time with," said Hermione as she leaned back and closed her eyes tiredly.

Ginny threw her a worried glance. How much longer would she keep this up?

"Hermione, why don't you go and see Lucius?" she asked softly.

"We've been over this, Gin," Hermione said with a tinge of annoyance in her tone.

"You're unhappy."

"It wouldn't change a thing."

"It might."

"I'm not going!"

* * *

Somewhere, some deity or other must be laughing themselves sick, thought Hermione with a mixture of annoyance and despair as she stared at Lucius.

Her first day on her new job and the first person she ran into at the Ministry had to be him, hadn't it? Thank God she spent some extra time on her make-up this morning, concealing some of the signs that showed how unhappy she was.

Slipping a finger underneath the necklace that she wore, she positioned it a little more to the right, so its pendant hung in the middle of her chest properly. She had chosen to wear a vibrant, emerald green silk blouse with a dark gray pencil skirt. She had wanted to look sharp and give nobody any reason to speculate on her private life, since it had been made public by the Prophet.

"Slytherin colours, Miss Granger?"

The sound of his voice after all these weeks of having to make due without it made her weak in the knees, even if she despised herself for it.

"Purely coincidental, I assure you, Mr Malfoy," she responded coolly.

He seemed a bit thinner than she remembered him, but it could be her mind playing tricks on her.

After another minute or so of silence and staring, she shifted nervously and moved the pendant back to the left a little.

Lucius' eyes focused on the movement.

"New jewellery, Miss Granger? From an admirer, perhaps?" he smiled poisonously, his eyes glittering like broken glass.

"Not that it is any of your business, but it was a gift from Ron" she told him heatedly, unconsciously bringing up her hand to cover the pendant protectively. He recoiled slightly at that remark.

She conveniently forgot to mention it had been a gift from Ron for her eighteenth birthday and that she wore it with a different pendant nowadays. She wanted him to think she was seeing someone else; let him believe she didn't give a damn about his soft silver hair and the clear grey eyes and the way his cologne seduced her senses and how she loved the way the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkled when he was amused...

She abruptly checked that particular train of thought. Dear God, she hadn't seen him for five weeks, hadn't she made _any_ progress? Clearly her feelings for him hadn't changed a bit. And here she was, probably broadcasting it to the world by the look in her eyes. Opposite a man like Lucius Malfoy no less, who had practically made a career out of reading people correctly.

Avoiding his eyes and instead focusing on the blue of his shirt, she waited for him to detect her weakness and verbally eviscerate her. At the same time a small, foolish part of her mind couldn't help but think wistfully that she really liked seeing him wearing blue.

"Well then," his voice was measured, precise, "it seems we have nothing significant to discuss."

He gave her a small bow of the head: "I wish you a good day, Miss Granger."

By the time she realised that for some reason or other he had either not detected or had chosen not to exploit her weakness and had gathered herself enough to mumble 'good day' in return, he was long gone.

* * *

She let the door fall closed behind her, leaning against it for support for a moment.

What a perfectly hellish day this had turned out to be.

First, she ran into her ex-lover, whom she clearly was very much in love with still, but who hated her guts from the looks of it. Then, for the rest of the day she was so preoccupied with thoughts of the elder Malfoy, that she managed to remember absolutely nothing from what her new co-worker was trying to explain to her and in the end had to beg for the afternoon off, claiming that she was ill.

"And I am," she said to the empty apartment. For she, quite clearly, must be insane if she loved a man who could look at her with nothing but contempt in his eyes.

She actually couldn't have blamed them if they had fired her on the spot.

'Well,' she thought philosophically as she pushed away from the door and made her way towards her bedroom, 'let fame come in handy for once.'

She moved to her wardrobe, opened it and then knelt down in front of it. Reaching into the back, she pulled out an old shoebox. Berating herself for being foolish, but unable to stop nonetheless, she opened the box. Laying the lid to the side, she looked at what was inside, stroking the sky blue fabric reverently. A sob rose up in her chest.

She got to her feet and sat down on the bed, pulling the fabric from its box and holding it to her nose. The familiar smell surrounded her again and caused a raw ache inside her. Her shoulders started to shake silently and it wasn't long before the room was rent by heart wrenching sobs.

* * *

**AN**: let me know what you think of the chapter and what you expect to happen in the next. I am very curious to know what you guys are thinking!


	5. Genuine at last

**­­Disclaimer**: see first chapter

**AN**: The finale; big, dramatic, romantic, sappy Lucius-Hermione scene, obviously. I'll shut up now.

**

* * *

The genuine article**

_Genuine at last_

It was slightly ridiculous, she had to admit, to be sitting on your sofa at four in the afternoon, dressed for bed when you weren't ill. Hermione held the large mug of hot chocolate between her cold fingers, pretending to read the book that was lying open in her lap.

After her little sojourn into the realm of the terminally melodramatic, she had hesitated only for seconds, before taking off her work clothes. Her new fluffy blue bathrobe was large and soft and a housewarming gift from her parents. She suspected she looked like an escapee from Sesame Street, but it was long enough to come to mid-shin and certainly large enough to bury herself in completely as she sat curled up in a corner of the sofa.

The hot chocolate had also been a necessity. Being a woman and needing consolation, there was but one answer. Well, as long as the trouble was man trouble anyway.

Harry and Ginny were supposed to come over today after work, but she had owled Ginny, saying that she was a little under the weather and was going to go to bed early today.

Which left her free to do whatever she needed to do to be able to function normally again.

Burrowing into large fluffy articles of clothing and hot chocolate had seemed like a good start. Having a good cry also seemed to have relieved some of the tension, even if it hadn't made her feel less sad.

'Oh well, one thing at a time, I guess,' she thought as she blew on the hot chocolate and tested its temperature carefully with her lips. She might get through this after all.

She had just taken her first few careful little sips when she heard the doorbell. Rolling her eyes, she set down her mug and got up, rather glad now that she had changed into her robe already: it would convince Ginny to leave quickly.

"Let me guess," she said as she opened the door, "you brought chicken s..."

The rest of the sentence got caught behind the sudden lump in her throat as she stared at the man in front of her.

Her hand instinctively shot up to her throat, holding the two sides of the robe closed with a vice grip.

"Lucius, what are you doing here?" she blurted, forgetting they weren't exactly on first-name-terms anymore.

"Can I come in?" he asked, voice terse, face carefully blank.

She hesitated.

"It won't take long," he added, his voice as well as his eyes acquiring an additional layer of frost.

She opened the door wider and stepped back. He moved into the hallway and waited for her to close the door and turn around.

"Living room's straight ahead," she said as she pointed and followed after him.

He didn't sit down, nor did he take off his cloak, instead moving around the room restlessly, picking up knickknacks here and there, fleetingly looking over the books in her bookcase in passing.

Hermione had sunk down on the sofa, one hand still holding her robe closed and was watching him with mounting curiosity. Not that her heart wasn't thudding against her chest in a pace she wasn't sure it should be capable of, but she had never before seen Lucius look so... ill at ease, she supposed. Seeing him behave so uncharacteristically took her mind off of being nervous herself for the moment.

"Was there something you wanted?" she asked quickly, when she saw him move in the general direction of her desk.

"Yes," he replied almost absentmindedly as he stared at her desk for a moment.

"Yes," he repeated, turning to face her. As he moved towards where she was sitting, his hand slipped into his pocket. Hermione couldn't explain why the thought popped in her head – it was probably a reflex on account of being anxious more than a well-thought-out response- but she thought he was going for his wand and her gaze unwillingly flickered to her own, laid inconveniently on the coffee table.

Lucius caught the look and froze, his grey eyes turning absolutely glacial.

"I won't harm you," he said between gritted teeth.

Hermione looked at her lap. "I know," she said softly. When she looked back up again, she met his gaze unflinchingly.

He relaxed infinitesimally at that and reached again into his pocket, pulling out a small paper box.

"I came to bring you this."

Intrigued in spite of herself, she took the box from him, their fingers brushing for the briefest of moments. His were cold as ice.

"Do you want some hot chocolate?" she offered awkwardly, "I just made some."

He shook his head, eyes never leaving the box in her hand. "Just open it."

She stared at him a moment longer, taking in the strange intensity of his eyes and unusually insecure behaviour before turning her attention back to the small box he gave her.

As she lifted the lid, there was a sparkle and a moment later she was staring down at one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen. The ring was white-gold (she had told him once she liked white-gold best) with a beautiful arrangement of five luminous emeralds, flanked on either side by a single diamond. Their reflective qualities were so bright they were almost blinding and Hermione didn't need anyone to tell her that this was, indeed, a Very Expensive piece of jewellery.

She didn't know how long she had sat there, staring at the ring in it's box, so mesmerized by it that the idea to pick it up didn't even occur to her, when he broke the silence.

"Do you like it?" His voice was curiously flat, as if he wanted her to believe he didn't care one way or another.

She looked up at him, confusion in her eyes.

"I don't understand."

He inhaled rather sharply, before moving towards the sofa and sitting down on the sofa next to her at a respectable distance.

"I know you didn't like the fact that the last ring I gave you was...not very expensive," he said, his face a careful blank.

"This one..." he picked up the emerald ring, "I have had it made this afternoon. There is no ring like it anywhere else. It's absolutely unique. And the stones are very costly."

Hermione's eyebrows were slowly rising. What was the man on about?

He struggled on.

"I know you do not...care for me the way that I'd like, but if it's expensive jewellery you want... I can give you that." He took a deep breath like a man preparing to put everything on the line. "I can give you anything you want."

Hermione had to forcibly clamp her jaw shut to prevent her mouth from falling open. 'What?'

"It was never about the ring." / "Would you wear this ring to replace the previous one I gave you?" They said simultaneously

"What?"/ "What?"

Lucius looked at her sheepishly, gesturing for her to speak.

"It was never about the ring, Lucius," Hermione repeated.

"Forgive me for asking," he shifted nervously, eyes downcast "but what was it about then?"

Hermione thought for a moment, her eyes softening in spite of herself for the harsh message she was about to give.

"It was about recognition. It was about you knowingly giving me a ring that Narcissa would know to be fake. It was about you leaving me open to ridicule and derision from pureblood society."

Her voice had grown quieter.

"It was as if you were proving Narcissa right, that I didn't belong there and you did nothing to help me protect myself from her attacks..."

His eyes came up to meet hers. She took a deep breath as she came to the heart of the matter: "I felt betrayed, Lucius."

He swallowed.

"You did? I thought..." he trailed off.

"What did you think?" she prompted gently.

"I thought you were angry because I didn't spend enough money." His eyes were everywhere but meeting hers, his body language that of a man...embarrassed?

Hermione smiled, really smiled for the first time in she couldn't remember how long. It almost hurt it was so good.

"I don't care about the money," she said, her voice light.

Lucius looked at her, really looked at her, took in her red-rimmed eyes, the messy mane of curly honey-coloured hair, that ridiculous blue robe, the... He frowned.

"You stole my shirt!" he exclaimed.

The warm and languid feeling that had started to develop in Hermione's stomach died a quick and untimely death as she jumped up as if stung, the hand she had neglected to keep at her throat moving upwards again and closing the robe, hiding what she wore underneath.

"I..." she floundered, cheeks colouring "It isn't what it looks like!"

"It's not?" asked Lucius, exaggerated wonder in his voice. Hermione was too distraught to note the faint tinge of hopefulness: for the first time since he had entered her apartment, he seemed to have the upper hand. With a predatory look in his eyes he slowly got up from the sofa and moved towards her.

Hermione moved backwards, away from him as he slowly advanced on her, driving her into the corner where her desk was.

As she felt the edge of the desk bump into her bum, Hermione admitted defeat.

Lucius came to a stop two feet in front of her, his arm reaching out to the ties at her waist that kept the robe closed. He cast a quick glance at her face before he took hold of them and pulled.

Hermione did nothing to stop the robe from falling open, revealing that she wore nothing beneath it but a pair of thick grey socks and a sky-blue men's shirt that reached to the top of her thighs and smelled of Lucius Malfoy's cologne.

"Not what it looks like huh?" he asked, a small flicker of hope in his eyes now.

Embarrassed to the core of her being, Hermione turned away from him and toyed mindlessly with the quillbox that stood on her desk.

"You stole one of my quillboxes too, I see." 'There was a definite hint of amusement in his voice, wasn't there?' Hermione thought desperately, too afraid to look at him and see for herself.

"And I do seem to remember the house elves are unable to locate one of my travelling bags," he continued, definitely sounding amused now.

Hermione found she almost dared to look at him, as she mumbled; "I was going to send them back to you, but somehow I never got around to it..."

"Never got around to it?" He repeated incredulously, even though his hand was coming up to gently move a couple of strands of her curls behind her ear.

She had lifted her head enough to be able to see his chin and going strong towards his eyes, when he suddenly froze. His hand moved to the side of her neck and though still gentle, his behaviour had changed to being completely on edge.

"Tell me once and for all: what is going on between you and Ronald Weasley?" He demanded, his voice cold and cutting.

Momentarily forgetting their encounter that morning, Hermione looked up to him in confusion, surprised at the coldness in his eyes.

"Going on between Ron and me? Nothing. I haven't even seen him in over a year. He didn't take very kindly to me working for you, you know. I thought I mentioned it before..."

"Don't _lie_ to me," he hissed, face uncomfortably close to hers.

There was a sharp tug and then she felt the delicate silver chain that she wore around her neck break. The weakest link, she thought humourlessly. Her last secret.

Lucius was staring at the broken necklace he had so carelessly torn from her neck in bewilderment.

"This is your ring," he said hoarsely, looking at the sapphire and diamond white-gold ring that was the only pendant on the necklace.

Feeling more exposed than she had ever been in her life, Hermione nodded haltingly, pushed herself off from the desk and moved away from him, back to the sofa.

She picked up her mug of hot chocolate, for want of anything better to do and took a sip. Ylergh. It was lukewarm at best. With a look of distaste she set it back on the coffee table.

"How long...?" It was barely more than a whisper.

Hermione gave him a weary look.

"When I went to the apartment on the day after the ball, I found you asleep on the sofa in the study; the ring was on the floor next to your hand. I took it and when I came home I put it on the necklace. I have been wearing it ever since."

Lucius squinted at the ring now held between his fingers, still warm from her body.

"It's the fake one," he said, surprise in his voice.

"Of course it is," she said exasperatedly and somewhat embarrassed. "I called myself all kinds of fool for wearing the ring of a man who knew his ex-wife had a more expensive version and didn't even deign to inform me of that little fact, but I couldn't put it away."

"Why not?"

Hermione wanted to hate him for digging around in her emotions like that, uprooting old hurts and reopening wounds that had barely stopped bleeding as it was, but there was something in his eyes, a sense of desperation, that seemed to indicate he was at least as vulnerable as she was.

"Because it was the only thing I had left connecting me to you," she whispered. "I couldn't let that go, even though I knew you didn't love me."

He staggered as if she had physically struck him. Closed his eyes slowly.

"I'm sorry I've been such a fool," he mumbled, before opening his eyes and looking straight at her.

"I'm sorry I thought even for a moment you care about superficial things. I should have known better, even when you took the ring and all the designer robes from our apartment. And then I come," he laughed bitterly, "to offer you an expensive ring, as if your love can be _bought_." The words were dripping with contempt.

His voice had been rising over those last sentences, so when he suddenly switched to a voice barely more than a whisper, she looked at him keenly.

"I have been so miserable without you these last few weeks," he admitted, a savage sense of justification in his voice. As if he deserved to be miserable.

"I have been so miserable and yet I still didn't see you for what you were." His tone was self-deprecating and Hermione felt her stomach churning in response. She hated seeing him this way: beating himself up over something that, in hindsight, was a very understandable mistake. After all, she was nothing like Narcissa: trying to interpret her actions while unconsciously still using the patterns he acquired to interpret his ex-wife's must inevitably lead to gross misinterpretation.

Yet he seemed to have little to no such understanding, much less forgiveness to offer himself.

"I love you," she blurted, stopping him hurting himself in the only way she knew how.

He stared at her in shock.

"Don't stare at me as if I've lost my mind! You came here with an expensive ring because you thought I cared about those kind of things. It wasn't the problem but it is probably the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. I only took the robes and my sleeping wear, because I couldn't bear the thought of you destroying them, or worse, give them to someone else."

As she said this, his face contorted in distaste, but she was in the middle of a good rant and couldn't, wouldn't stop.

"I will wear the emerald ring if your offer's still valid. I will wear the fake sapphire ring, if you prefer that. Hell, I would wear _any_ ring you would ever give me, not caring if Narcissa had ten more expensive versions of it, as long as she didn't get them from _you_. That's why I took the fake ring with me when I found it on the floor. It is also why I couldn't stop myself from taking the shirt you had worn and why I didn't return your quillbox or the travelling bag. They all reminded me of you. And I found that I love you so much, " she hiccupped a small sob here, "that I couldn't let go of you completely, even if you didn't love me in return. I couldn't let go yet."

He hadn't moved a muscle, didn't move a muscle when she got up from the sofa and moved to stand in front of him.

"So please, Lucius, tell me that your being here means that it is not yet too late. Tell me that you bought that emerald ring because you care for me, even a little, just...please."

"You...I..." said Lucius eloquently, his eyes searching her gaze for she didn't know what.

The next thing she knew, he was kissing her, his familiar lips so welcome against her own, having been missed so dearly. Without hesitation, Hermione's hands slipped inside his cloak and around his torso, pulling his body flush against hers. The feel of his solid chest against hers, the warmth of his body, the play of the muscles on his back as he frantically buried his hands in her hair, tilting her head and deepening their kiss was like coming home to her.

His tongue touched her bottom lip almost shyly, as if he were afraid of being rejected. Hermione allowed him entrance without hesitation, welcoming him into her mouth, her own tongue licking, caressing, worshipping the mouth she had to miss for what seemed like an eternity.

She didn't even realise she was crying until Lucius gently broke away from her and started wiping away her tears with his thumbs, her jaw cradled in both of his hands.

"I am so sor...." he started to say, but was stopped by her fingers against his lips.

"Stop apologizing. I don't want to hear it anymore," she said, eyes locking with his.

She saw uncertainty there, vulnerability. He took a shuddering breath.

"Does this mean I'm forgiven?" Again that curiously flat tone of voice.

Hermione let her arms slip from around him and moved to sit on the sofa.

"It means you _may_ be forgiven, in time."

His eyes hardened. "Do not play games with me," he commanded flatly.

Hermione was about to snap back at him, when suddenly a mental image of Narcissa loomed in front of her. Taking another look at Lucius, she saw that yes, superficially he was exuding anger, but his hands were clenched into tight fists and he seemed to have trouble staying still.

As if somebody had just given her the key to deciphering his body language, she realised that he was afraid.

Well, she didn't know Narcissa very well, but she thought that lording an argument like this over Lucius' head for interminable amounts of time and milking it for all it was worth in terms of jewellery and fine clothes wasn't beyond her. Lucius was merely responding in the way he had been taught.

Obviously, it was high time to teach him some new things.

She got up and moved to where he was standing stiffly, reaching over to his left hand with both of hers. She gently uncurled his fingers from the tight fist and gave his hand a brief squeeze, before letting it drop and moving to his right hand.

He was watching her with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity, but did nothing to resist her as she held onto his right hand and led him back to the sofa with her.

Her hands came up to the fastenings of his cloak and with a few deft movements she undid them and took the garment from him, draping it over the back of a chair. Indicating that he should take a seat, which he did, she moved back to her old spot.

She turned her entire body in his direction, unequivocally giving him her undivided attention.

"I am not Narcissa," she said.

When she saw how badly he started at that remark, she realised she might have been a bit more diplomatic about this. Reaching out to take his hand in hers, she tried to explain.

"When I said you may be forgiven, in time, I meant nothing more than to indicate that I will need some time to get comfortable with you again." She rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb comfortingly.

"It does not mean that I will withdraw my acceptance of you the moment you do something I don't like. It does not mean I am going to have this hanging over your head like the sword of Damocles."

She moved a bit closer towards him.

"So, what I should have said just now, was that you _would_ be forgiven, in time."

She moved closer still.

"Wholeheartedly, I think."

He stared up at her, as she was now sitting on the sofa on her knees in front of him, tentative relief and something akin to wonder in his eyes.

Hermione smiled at him, before she lowered her head and tenderly pressed her mouth against his.

It was unlike the passionate kiss they had just shared, not frantic and full of longing for something dearly missed. It was tender and compassionate, reassuring and promising.

She smiled against his mouth as he felt some of the tension leaving him. Putting her arms around his shoulders, she pulled him against her upper body, cradling his head against her chest.

Lucius, for his part, merely closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax. The hands that were rubbing soothingly along his back started to ease out the kinks that five weeks of misery had left there.

"You _have_ lost weight," Hermione said accusingly, the feel of him under her hands confirming the half-held suspicion from their meeting that morning.

He merely hummed, not bothering to open his eyes.

"Have you been eating enough?" she pressured.

"Wasn't very hungry," he replied languidly.

She looked down at the top of his blond head with something akin to guilt. "Because you were so miserable?"

"Hm," Lucius said non-committially .

She felt her eyes start to tear up. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Stop apologizing," said he, "you will be forgiven in time."

At being so neatly outmanoeuvred with her own words no less, she had to laugh through her tears. She moved her hand to the ribbon tying his hair together and released it.

He let out a groan as she buried her hand in his hair at the back of his head.

"You do realise I love you, don't you?" he murmured.

She froze.

Untangling himself from her with reluctance, he moved so their eyes could meet. Hers were teary.

"I was hoping you cared when you showed up here."

"Dearest, 'caring' doesn't even begin to describe it," he said lightly, but the look in his eyes belied his levity. For there, quite visible in their silver depths, his love shone brightly.

Hermione launched herself at him with such momentum that he landed on his back on her sofa, with her on top of him. They were kissing frantically, hands moving, caressing the other's body, burying themselves in the other's hair, tugging at buttons that wouldn't cooperate.

Hermione moaned desperately as she felt his tongue swiping against the seam of her lips, permitting him entrance gladly as her hands clumsily undid the buttons of his robes. Lucius for his part was content to just lay there with her on top of him, kissing the living daylights out of her and allowing himself to be undressed.

He gasped as he felt her hands on the naked skin of his abdomen, Hermione using the disconnection of their mouths to attack the soft skin of his neck, sucking, nipping, licking, kissing and suckling a way from below his ear to the hollow of his throat. Unable to resist any longer, he placed his hands on her hips, letting them slip under the shirt she wore and moving upwards, to the warm skin of her abdomen.

She lifted herself up briefly, to allow him to slide the shirt up higher, her mouth never once leaving his chest. Both of them sighed as their bellies touched skin to skin. There was no feeling just like having the warm, naked body of the one you love against your skin, Hermione thought vaguely as she mounted an attack on Lucius' right nipple.

Feeling the wet heat made him moan in delight, the hands on her back unconsciously clenching.

With a supreme effort, Hermione paused her assault on his person long enough to push herself a little higher so she could look at his face. His eyes opened languidly and he gave her a warm contented smile that made her heart melt all over again.

"You know," she started conspiratorially, "much as I'd like you to meet your dietary needs from now on – so you can regain the weight that you've lost-" Lucius frowned slightly at the apparent non-sequitur. "I think for just this once we can...start with dessert."

Giving him a last, impish look, she quickly pushed up and away from him, crawling off of the sofa and darted out of reach. Lucius made a half-hearted effort to grab her and pull her back down, but she easily evaded him and with a naughty glance over her shoulder disappeared into the bedroom.

Lucius rolled his eyes and pushed himself up to a half-sitting position. Looking down at his, uncomfortably tight, trousers he yelled: "Granger, you can't leave me like this!"

His only response was mad giggling from the open door of the bedroom.

Smiling to himself, he got up from the sofa and crossed the room.

"You're going to regret leaving me alone," he threatened, the double meaning of his words quite unintentional.

Because, even though he had come here prepared to offer her his wealth in return for her company; even though he had despaired of ever gaining her affection but had been miserable enough without her to settle for a mere fondness of his money...Lucius Malfoy found he was infinitely happier when it turned out that there was only one genuine article she had ever been after.

Him.

Finite.

* * *

**AN**: I definitely am going to write an epilogue for this story, because there are still loose ends to be tied. Don't know when I'll get around to it, but my head's still bubbling with ideas.

Anyway, let me know if I delivered on my promise of an outrageously happy ending. Oh and thank you for reading; you were a lovely audience.


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